


Not Such a Shame

by Bardwich



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, flirty boys being flirty, kissy times, mentions of suicidal thoughts but nothing more serious than canon, period accurate homophobia, uncockblocking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardwich/pseuds/Bardwich
Summary: What if Wilhelmina hadn't cockblocked Drummond and Alfred that night?
Relationships: Edward Drummond/Alfred Paget
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Not Such a Shame

‘Such a shame no one wanted to join us.’

Drummond had to bite back a smile. Lord Alfred had a way of saying one thing and meaning quite another that made his friend’s heart race and sparked a competitive need in him to one-up it. Be game. No, more than that: to impress him.

‘What _are_ we going to talk about?’ he said daringly.

Lord Alfred seemed to be having a hard time keeping a poker face, too. He managed to hold his smooth façade and raised his cognac glass, Drummond following suit, conspiratorially.

They had been dancing around this, each other, for years.

Drummond, ever the ambitious young statesman, had only meant to make a useful alliance in befriending Her Majesty’s Chief Equerry. However, the friendship he found in reality was proving to be more and more conflicting. He was reaching a tipping point: he either had to address it in some way or remain silent forever.

And now… now, Lord Alfred was lowering his glass. He opened his mouth ever so slightly, carefully formulating what he was about to say next—

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I think I left my volume of Chopin in here!’ Miss Wilhelmina Coke’s chirpy and rather transparent voice popped the bubble of tension built up in the room.

 _Damn_ , Drummond thought. Interrupted, again. The work that had gone into conniving all evening just so he could get Alfred alone in the parlour! And still, it was uncertain and feeble enough to be spoiled by Miss Coke and a couple of sheets of music. With all that tight supervision of her tyrannical great-aunt, he did find it awfully strange that the girl was able to simply wander back downstairs after everyone had retired, all alone, knowing that only these two unmarried gentlemen were left behind. Footmen? Miles away in this vast palace.

After all, there was no impropriety in two respectable bachelors being left alone.

But now that she showed up, Lord Alfred was already on his feet, asking her to join them – purely out of sheer courtesy, he wasn’t even truly trying to hide it. She didn’t take the hint a bit. Drummond jumped up as well, giving her his seat. Feeling like a spare part and his anxiety getting the better of him, he wandered over to the corner where the decanter was. He realised just how foolhardy he was only now that he had missed another chance, so closely as well, to discuss… to discuss… well, to have a discussion with Lord Alfred at any rate, about something on which he couldn’t put his finger, or didn’t dare to. After all, if Miss Coke hadn’t come in, he might have revealed his most unusual feelings to his friend. Worse! If she had come in just a minute later, she might have overheard him! Think of that!

No, it was better he kept this to himself. Even if he had a sense – or foolish hope – that Lord Alfred would understand.

‘Any news from Coburg?’ she inquired. Small talk. Of course. Whatever else did any lady ever have to offer? No, that wasn’t fair. Lady Florence did have her virtues and intelligence but one could never get as deep and as eloquent with women as with men. For one, men were of great learning and professions that fascinated Drummond and he enjoyed impressing his fellows, too. And then there was the constant chaperoning when it came to women – as soon as Florence voiced any opinion on any subject rather more fit for men, her mama would scold her and she had to change course and ask Drummond about whether he preferred the roses or the orchids in the garden. If he was honest, it made no difference to him. No flower, no wonder of the natural world could come close to… to him…

‘No,’ Lord Alfred replied to Miss Coke. As if curtness would put an early end to this chat.

That wasn’t her. She always had something else to chatter on about.

‘I wonder how Prince Ernst is finding his new life as the Duke,’ she continued sure enough, yet more transparently. But then, Drummond could attest that once one was stung by Cupid’s arrow it was hard to hide it. One felt as if it was as apparent as said arrow sticking out of one’s forehead!

‘Hopefully better than his father.’

Drummond had to turn away – Lord Alfred’s comment was rather shocking, verging on distasteful and morbid… but why did Drummond crack up, then?

‘I suppose he’ll have to find a bride.’

Oh. Right. Well, that comment of Miss Coke’s killed any giddiness in Drummond, who was still listening. He met Alfred’s eyes as well… strange… he also had a dash of regret in there…

‘Well,’ Lord Alfred pondered aloud. ‘“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”’

Miss Coke blushed at the quote. She and her novels. ‘Do you really think so, Lord Alfred?’ she asked hopefully.

Lord Alfred delayed his answer with a sip of his port.

‘No,’ he said finally.

Drummond’s heart skipped a beat.

Her smile, however, faded.

‘No?’

‘Oh, do not let me sway your opinion, Miss Coke. You see, I’m under obligation to disagree with Miss Austen. I regret to say she abhorred my family entirely and therefore I must abhor her views on principle as a Paget.’

‘Oh, Lord Alfred, you are just—’

‘WILHELMINA!’

Caught and found! The Duchess of Buccleuch carted Miss Coke away from the company of the bachelors more swiftly than any apologies could be uttered by anyone.

‘Well, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of that, come morning!’ Lord Alfred remarked with humour once the men were alone again.

Drummond, however, no longer felt in a bright enough mood to laugh.

Lord Alfred stepped over to him at the decanter. It was a dim corner of the room, out of sight of the doorway, a fact which seemed want to race across Drummond’s brain a hundred times over and over again now that his friend was but a feet away.

Drummond felt Alfred’s gaze on him but he willed himself not to turn.

‘Light me up, will you?’ Lord Alfred’s velvety voice sounded quite gently in the intimate silence of the salon.

Drummond fumbled with his tinderbox until a fire was lit. He raised it for Alfred, who steadied his hand with his own. He leaned forward for the flame. Drummond allowed himself the simple pleasure of the sight of Alfred’s eyelashes falling on his alabaster cheeks.

And the way his lips curled around the cigar…

Oh--

He turned away just a second too late. Alfred had unexpectedly looked up. He wasn’t supposed to know Drummond was watching. But he forgot himself entirely!

Ouch! He singed his shirt sleeve and caught the flame just at the last second.

He blew out the tinderbox and turned back to the liquor table from embarrassment.

‘You’re not having one?’ Alfred asked him.

‘What?’

‘A cheroot.’

‘Oh. No. I shouldn’t.’

‘Why not? If you want it.’

‘I… Well… Um… If you insist…’

‘Do not let me lead you into temptation…’

Drummond wanted to cry—from pain, from joy, from both all at once and pray for some relief from this. Some comprehension. Some sense. Something. Anything. A yearning to be quenched or, if that was not to be, at least more will to control it.

‘Drummond? I have to ask… are you quite well?’ Lord Alfred then said, genuinely concerned.

‘I am,’ Drummond replied curtly, unsure in his voice.

‘Have I said something? If it was that joke about the late Duke, I’m sorry—perhaps you are grieving yourself, I wasn’t thinking…’

‘No, I am not offended. Nor grieving. Only, perhaps my youth and freedom.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I… I am rather… pressured at the moment. This evening has been wonderful, truly. Alas, all that talk of marriage reminded me it will come to an end in the morning.’

‘But my dear friend, what can you mean?’

Drummond chanced a glance at Alfred, who was still standing right beside him. He poured himself more brandy and forced himself to face him like a man.

‘I am your friend,’ he began. ‘We talk about politics, people, anything—but I feel I must confess something that I have failed to mention thus far. Failed, well… hesitated to. Something that gravely worries me, quite shamefully so.’

‘Drummond. It’s only me. Tell me what ails you, really, you look quite pale.’

‘I am pale. I wish I were paler yet, whenever I think about it. They say with death comes peace. I…’

And Drummond could still not manage the words out. So it fell on Alfred to guess.

‘You aren’t sick, are you?’ he asked fearfully.

‘No. Not… no…’

‘Then why would your youth be at an end—’ Lord Alfred trailed away, realisation hitting him. ‘Oh. Marriage.’

Drummond’s eyes fell shut as if not wanting to see the road ahead.

‘Y-You’re engaged,’ Alfred stuttered, quite taken aback.

‘No, I’m not engaged,’ Drummond was quick to say, somewhat putting Alfred’s mind at ease. ‘Not yet.’

Alfred was listening intently.

‘In the morning—oh God! In but nine hours!’ Drummond moaned as the grandfather clock just struck 2 in the morning. ‘I am to meet the Marquess of Lothian at his club. My family and his have been in discussions for years… the marquess’s daughter Lady Florence has turned 18 this year. He expects me to confirm my proposal tomorrow.’

Drummond emptied his tumbler in one swig. Not that it helped steady his hands.

‘Well… then… I shall have to congratulate you,’ Alfred forced himself to say.

Drummond now did face him dead on. ‘No, Alfred, do not congratulate me. Can’t you see, every fibre of my being is reluctant?’

‘But whyever, pray? Is the bride not a beauty?’ Alfred asked in that strained sort of voice he reserved for formal audiences at the palace but which suited this stolen night time conversation very ill. He dragged the last of his cigar and put it out rather nervously.

‘It’s not that—’

‘A bore, then? Humourless? I don’t know Lady Florence well but I don’t think any one of these remarks could be said of her. She is every bit as accomplished as you could want a wife to be.’

‘But I don’t want a—’ Drummond nearly burst out but bit his tongue the last second before he was most ungentlemanly. ‘Yes. I believe Lady Florence is considered quite… personable. Not that that matters for my parents—even if I disliked her they wouldn’t consider it an obstacle.’

‘And do you? Dislike her?’

‘No. In fact, I care for her deeply.’

Something flashed across Alfred’s watery blue eyes and Drummond couldn’t stay silent any longer.

‘…but not as I care for you,’ he said.

The silence that greeted this intimate confession was such that grandfather clock’s every tick and tock pierced one’s eardrums like thunders.

Reluctant and lost as to how to explain better, Drummond willed Alfred to understand. Begging, begging with his eyes for sympathy, knowing how futile it was. Alfred’s stunned expression was surely a sign of despise, he would turn around any second and walk out, as he should. Shaking from shame, pins and needles tormenting his skin, deaf from pounding anxiety, Drummond grasped for something to remedy this most precious friendship of theirs, anything, but he choked.

‘I’m sorry…’

Alfred, far from leaving him, stepped yet closer.

‘M-maybe it is a sickness…’

‘No,’ Alfred said, his soothing voice balming Drummond’s anxiety. ‘It’s not a sickness. It is love.’

Drummond looked up at Alfred. As soon as he met his eyes, so earnest and beautiful, he could no longer stand it.

Alfred’s lips were heaven. Scared he misread it all, he pulled away all too quickly. Overcome with passion, however, he had to kiss him again. The third time, it was Alfred pulling him back, eagerly kissing back, properly, with all his heart.

This, this was what he had hungered for—no one else, no accomplished woman, no temptress, no riches and no successes could come close to Alfred’s kisses. After all that waiting and uncertainty and imagination, the reality was all too much and yet not enough—this thirst would never be quenched.

Maybe it _was_ love.

Yes, yes, it was.

When they parted, Drummond’s sigh was of the relief of Alfred’s reciprocation. But when Alfred stayed in his arms, nuzzling his nose against Drummond’s, the simple, gentle, loving gesture was such that Drummond’s heart broke for it. He felt quite weak in the knees and though he was a tad taller than him, it was Alfred who supported him by the elbows lest his legs buckled.

‘Alfred…’ he said, the name as sweet on his tongue as the man himself.

That answered his questions. He was most definitely one of those men. His bright past and even brighter future both doomed to come to nothing: how could he be a statesman when he himself was of a criminal nature?

It killed him to think about that. Just absolutely destroyed him.

‘Drummond?’ Alfred asked with worry. Drummond leaned into his hug and Alfred held him tightly in his arms as no one ever had. ‘Shh… Drummond… Edward… my darling…’ he soothed him. When Drummond was ready, Alfred helped him stand up straight again. ‘Talk to me. Tell me what you feel, do not keep it in.’

‘I can’t—I mustn’t.’

‘You can, and please do. Seems to me you’ve been tormenting yourself by keeping it all to yourself. God knows so have I. Please,’ Alfred said, brushing a loose curl out of Drummond’s eyes lovingly and guiding him back to his armchair.

Alfred closed the door for safety.

They drank more brandy for their nerves before Alfred settled on the carpet by Drummond’s feet, stroking his thigh for comfort as the man was still shaking with anxiety, distraught, and crying.

‘Is this wrong?’ Drummond asked in a small voice after a while.

‘I don’t believe so,’ Alfred replied seriously.

‘But the Bible—’

‘—says that there was a love surpassing the love of women between David and Jonathan. Why should it be wrong if we felt like that? Look, I am no authority on these matters, but I don’t think any priest knows any better about God or what’s right and wrong than I do. To love is a good thing. Then how could our love be wrong?’

Edward seemed unconvinced and terrified.

‘Have you ever stolen anything?’ Alfred asked him then.

‘Sorry?’

‘You heard me. An apple from a market seller’s basket when you were a child, a coin that someone dropped?’

‘I… I took my brother’s Latin grammar and lied about having it for a week once. But I felt very bad about it and confessed it all later.’

‘There you are. You did something naughty and felt bad. Because theft is bad. You having that book caused your brother grievance. But when you… when you kissed me… when you think of me… do you feel bad? Does it feel wrong?’

Drummond was appalled at the mere suggestion. ‘No! Of course not. I didn’t know it was possible to be as happy as I am because of you!’

‘See!’ Alfred said, heart soaring. ‘Because love is not wrong. Our love isn’t. It may be misunderstood by the society of our day, regrettably I do not see that changing anytime soon. But there were times in history when such a love as there is one between us was respected. Or at least tolerated. You are a good man. Your moral compass, within your heart, is always right, I am sure of it. If God sees us, he is happy for us. That’s what I think. God made you the way you are. So beautiful I have been aching since the day I met you,’ Alfred had to laugh as Drummond blushed at that shyly. ‘I don’t just mean your looks. You have a beautiful soul, also. Surely, this is good.’

Drummond was visibly struggling, however. He tormented and berated himself for so long. And then the pressing matter at hand…

‘Not sure I can tell Lord Lothian that tomorrow.’

‘There must be something we can do,’ Alfred said. ‘You’re not engaged yet after all.’

‘Don’t you think I should be? You’re right, a man of my standing and fortune should marry. My career…’

‘You’re brilliant, you don’t need to marry to get ahead.’

‘Perhaps. But what about… about this? Us? Hadn’t I better marry to thwart even seeds of rumours?’

Alfred pondered that.

‘No,’ he said at last, with such conviction that Drummond had to listen without objection. ‘Drummond. Women, with no claim to their fortunes and no careers to build must marry. Buffoons like that Duke of Monmouth or fortune hunters must marry. You, with all your assets, intelligence, and friends, do not have to marry. And as regards any rumours you might have to disparage along the way: don’t you think marrying a woman and failing to be a husband to her would be just the thing that might expose you? Isn’t it better to stay away from the subject altogether? After all, if your brother hadn’t asked whether you had taken his book and you had told him out of the blue that you did not take it, he would have definitely begun to suspect you, would he not?’

Drummond considered all this, failing to find fault in Alfred’s logic.

‘How do you know so much about this?’ he asked.

Alfred swallowed. ‘I loved and lost. I admit that. But never like this. Never anyone like you. Edward,’ Alfred grabbed Drummond’s hands and held them to his own chest. ‘I know I have no right to determine your future. I love you and of course I don’t want you to marry someone else. But I also say this as your friend: I do not believe you should propose tomorrow. For your own sake. Clearly, you object to this so vehemently, you are shaking like a leaf. It cannot end well, not if you muse about your own dying day at the mere thought of marriage.’

‘How can I get out of it now?’

‘In my experience—as an observer at court, not personally—the only thing more difficult than entering an engagement is getting out of one. Nothing has been promised yet, has it?’

‘No, but…’

‘No contracts signed? No money has changed hands?’

‘Not that I know of, no.’

‘Well then, you are a free man.’

Drummond sniffed and blinked back the last of his tears now. He hadn’t realised how weighed down he had been until now that Alfred gave him permission to think outside of this plan, to breath above water again. Maybe there was a light at the end of this darkest of tunnels. And his name was Alfred.

‘How should I do it? In person, I should think?’

‘I would send the Marquess a note first. There will be arguments, there bound to be, I’m not going to lie. You will have to stand up for yourself, Drummond.’

‘I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do so but I haven’t.’

‘This time will be different. Do you know why?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I shall be here to support you. I am with you. I won’t let them destroy you and turn you into one of those miserable old men who give up on life before they are thirty. No. Not you, my darling. I love you.’

Edward’s heart was so full. He slid out of the armchair to join Alfred on the carpet.

‘I love you, too,’ he confessed honestly.

He had to kiss Alfred again, melting into it gladly, wanting more and more and—

The door opened—Alfred jumped on his feet as quickly as lightning. Drummond, hidden behind the armchair, slid up into the seat covertly.

‘Oh, apologies, sirs,’ Brodie quipped, apparently ignorant there was anything unusual going on in there. ‘I was sent to put out the candles but if…’

‘No, we were just about to retire for the night. About time, right, Drummond?’ Alfred chatted away nonchalantly. ‘Politicians! They drone on and on!’

Brodie didn’t question that! These pompous gentlemen could discuss the most boring topics for days on end. He was just glad to be out of the dining room when it went on.

‘Should I tell the groom to ready your carriage, Mr Drummond?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s far too late!’ Alfred stepped in to answer for him. ‘Mr Drummond ought to stay at the Palace for the night.’

Drummond stood up at that. ‘But I live only a short ride away, Lord Alfred…’

‘Nonsense, the streets are dangerous at night. Brodie, was it? Is the blue room made up?’

‘I believe so, my lord.’

‘Well, then, Drummond, we shall put you up there and you can return to politics tomorrow. Ah, no need,’ Alfred quipped as Brodie moved to take Drummond upstairs. ‘I can show him the way, it’s right next to my own room,’ Alfred said bringing redness into Drummond’s cheeks. ‘Besides, you must be dying to go to sleep.’

Brodie caught a silver coin and scurried downstairs to get into his bed at last before the gentlemen changed their minds. As far as he was concerned, his shift has ended.

As for Alfred, he beckoned for Drummond to follow him up carpeted staircases…

…if he never saw the inside of the blue room, perhaps it was not such a shame.


End file.
